Insults of Ice
by malteselover
Summary: A one-shot. In the what was like a twisted, pass the ball game, Ron must spend several hours wearing the Horcurx locket. Then the torments begin...


"Okay, you're turn Ron," Hermione said heavily, removing the locket from around her neck, and placing it in Ron's hand.

He took the locket, weighing it in his palm. It seemed really heavy, too heavy for its size. He also noticed how icy the locket felt in his hands, like it had just come out of a freezing pool of water. The emeralds embedded on the front of the locket glittered menacingly at him. At least, they seemed to. He wasn't completely sure. He shook his head, insisting that he was imagining the sinister gleam, and after a moment's hesitation, put the locket around his neck.

Ron felt the locket slide down his chest, resting on the spot right above his heart. He realized how cold it felt against his bare skin, and shifted it a little. It was uncomfortable, and he immediately decided that he didn't like the feeling at all. He waited for something to happen, for some demo-like monster to come to him and pull him into depression. But none came. Almost surprised by the lack of effect, he got up and left the tent in order to help Harry gather firewood.

"Where do you want to look?" Ron asked Harry as he approached him at the entrance to the tent.

"Oh, I think there's a clearing just up ahead." Harry walked ahead of Ron, who, for a second, felt rooted to the spot. He stared at Harry, and felt a flicker of something. He didn't know what exactly that something was, but he knew he didn't like it. It had started in his heart, but it seemed to travel to all parts of him, settling in the pit of his stomach. It left him as quickly as it came.

"Ron, you coming?" Harry asked, realizing now that Ron had not followed him.

"Yeah, sorry." Ron followed Harry to the clearing just ahead of the tent. It was a small circle of trees, in which branches had fallen in criss-crossed patterns. The afternoon sun shone through the gaps in the tress, but there was still an evident autumn chill.

"You look over here, and I'll check over there," Harry said, gesturing to some corner on the other side of the clearing.

"Okay," Ron said, and he bent down to begin gathering dry branches. He had only picked up a few sticks when he heard a voice, coming from within him. Only he was sure it was not his own.

"_Who is he, to order you around? Like some dog. Like the sidekick you are." _The voice was cold and silky; almost snake like. Ron looked down at his chest where the locket lay.

"Shut up," he muttered to himself. He decided to just ignore the voice. But it did not go away.

"Much better than you as a person. He is the Chosen One after all. You are nothing compared to him. You are lucky he allows you to sit in the shadow of his glory." Ron tried, without success, to shut the voice out. It was the one thing he could never do. He couldn't ignore it when people taunted him. He could no longer avoid the voice, which, it seemed, had gotten louder.

"You're mother would much rather have Harry for a son. Harry, brave, noble, intelligent, famous. A much better student than you. She would rather have him, over you, the worthless, talent less, tactless being that you are." Ron listened, almost transfixed. The problem was that this thought had always floated in the back of his mind, the dark part that he normally avoided. He didn't like to think about it, because he didn't like to have to decide if it were true. But now, with it blaring through his head, he felt like he had to decide. At first, he determined that it was all absolute rubbish, and that the voice was trying to get him upset. But the voice had other thoughts in mind…

"You don't believe me? Well, its true. Think, Ron Weasley. You're older brothers are intelligent and highly accomplished. A dragon tamer, a curse breaker, a Ministry of Magic official, and highly successful joke shop owners, who will become richer than anyone else in the family. Even your younger sister, while still a student at Hogwarts, has credit to her name. A talented spell caster, popular, good at Quidditch, and the love interest of your supposed best friend." The voice said "supposed" with particular relish, glorying in the fact that it had successfully rendered Ron motionless. Ron couldn't help but realize that most of what the voice said he knew to be true. His brother's were very successful, and his sister was everything the voice said. But "supposed?" Harry had been his best friend since the day they had met on the train, hadn't he? But just as he finished this thought, the cruel voice laughed, a cold chilling laugh…

"What makes you think that Harry is actually your friend? Why on Earth would he, the Chosen One, want to be friends with a mediocre excuse of a human, like you? He pities you, pities the fact that if it weren't for himself, you would be alone and friendless, forcing the your company on your better brothers. Hermione, on the other hand, is worthy of his friendship, the brightest witch in your year. Could there be a better match for the Chosen One? Ron tried to think of a silent retort, but none came. He couldn't bring himself to disagree. Hermione was the brightest witch in their year. The voice was right. He could feel a wave of malevolent chill spread through him, as though the bodiless voice was rejoicing over the trust Ron put into the words it said. He shuddered. A moment later he heard someone shout…

"Hey, what's the matter?" It took a moment before it registered with him that this was not the harsh voice that had been tormenting him, but Harry's voice.

"Nothing," Ron said, a little gruffly. Because when he looked at Harry, the things the voice had said came back to him. And he wondered if what it said were true. Was he really only the pitied sidekick?

Night had fallen, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting inside the tent. They had abandoned the watch for a half and hour to eat dinner. Well, in theory it was dinner. They still hadn't come across true food, so they were stuck, once again, eating rubbery white mushrooms. Harry swallowed the mushrooms with a small shudder, only doing it because Hermione stared hopefully at him. Ron could only prod moodily at his meal. His thoughts were on the voice, which had decided to move its torments to a new topic.

"She loves him. She loves him with a love which she will never love you."

"That's not true," Ron muttered to himself.

"How do you know? Can you read her mind? Anyway, why would she love you, when she could love someone like Harry Potter? Why would she pick tin, when she could have 24 karat gold?"

"They don't love each other," Ron whispered again. Maybe, if he convinced himself that it was true, the voice would give up on the argument. But that did not work…

"Hermione Granger, brightest witch of your age, quick witted and pretty, matched with the lowly, useless, dimwitted…"

"Ron?"

"What?" He shouted very roughly. He looked up to find that it had been Harry who had spoken.

"I just wanted to say that its time to switch." He gestured to the locket. Ron had almost forgotten its existence since he had first put it on. He grabbed the chain, pulled it off quickly, and was surprised to find that he felt lighter and airier, his head clearer. The voice had disappeared abruptly. With an intense feeling of relief, he passed the locket to Harry. Harry took it, and with a small grimace, put it on. Ron watched, feeling more at ease than he had been all day. But still, he was unhappy, because he realized that all too soon, he would have to put it back on, and he dreaded the moment when he would.

**A/N**: Okay, please understand that I am NOT on the side of the Locket here. Ron is my favorite character in the Harry Potter series, and it absolutely killed me to write all those awful insults. I wrote this one shot partially in response to a rather nasty editorial on Mugglenet, blaming Ron's pettiness and lack of loyalty for his imminent departure from the trio. I hoped to show that Ron left mostly because of the locket, and that the locket did affect him in ways it did not affect Harry or Hermione. This is what I pictured a typical Locket-wearing experience felt like for Ron.


End file.
